Redsand Canyon down and out over the mount

poor colin…. feel free to reply again or archive here, and thank you for the thread! :>

Something was odd in how Colin took to the comment, but he thanked her nonetheless and eventually returned the sentiment. Weariness took its time creeping into Finley as a post-battle release; it hit Colin, meanwhile, with the sympathy of a careening ram. Were fights like this common for him? His sinking demeanor—along with the barely-conceived realization that Finley’s upbringing was, perhaps, not a norm—suggested otherwise. “Only in self-defense” indeed.

Colin left without further fanfare; Finley, being a wolf of few words herself, was content to let their encounter end with that. Perhaps there were things left unsaid, but for her there was no more point to the spar than the motions themselves. Doubt and worry and other such nonsense could creep in later, unwelcome as the sand that would surely irritate her wounds. But for now, Finley was content.

She took a moment to lap at the bite on her foreleg, wondering idly how long it’d leave a mark, allowing the distance between herself and Colin to grow. Then, as if none of this had happened (barring the slightest limp), Finley descended back towards the canyons.

Her doubts about Colin, at least, had been firmly quelled.